


If You're Shattered

by backwards_silver



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, I wish wed gotten this scene, Missing Scene, Post-Brody's death, Semi-happyish ending, friends don't let friends wallow in self-pity, lots of swearing (of course)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwards_silver/pseuds/backwards_silver
Summary: After Brody dies and Carrie flies home from Tehran, Quinn picks her up from the airport.
Relationships: Carrie Mathison & Peter Quinn, Carrie Mathison/Peter Quinn, Nicholas Brody & Carrie Mathison, Nicholas Brody/Carrie Mathison
Comments: 19
Kudos: 22





	If You're Shattered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Downtherabbithole850](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Downtherabbithole850/gifts).



> Writing this because a lovely reader suggested it, and because Quinn picking Carrie up after Brody's death is entirely canon in my mind, at this point. 
> 
> Also, if there are still some C/Q shippers still alive and kicking out there, I'd love to hear your thoughts! I know we're few these days but these two are too good to let die! I've met some amazing people so far ;)

_I'll be there when it's over,_   
_After he's gone and your world comes to an end._

  
_I'll be there when it's over,_   
_You'll never cry again._

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Quinn could feel his heart threatening to pound out of his chest as he wandered the airport, single minded, looking for auburn hair amongst the crowd. His eyes searched for the purposeful, rapid strides he'd come to know so well. For Carrie with her fury and pain wrapped into a ball of fire, come to scorch the earth for all the injustices done to her and to Brody.

Quinn had barely reconciled, himself, the fact that Brody was dead.

_Just like that._

He thought it would feel different, more triumphant, the man who'd caused so much grief and spun so many lies was finally gone, the man he'd been sent to kill months ago. He didn't feel victorious, he didn't feel triumphant, he felt numb, mixed with this desperation, this need to see Carrie as soon as possible, to pull her away from everything threatening to eat her up, from outside and within.

He would've given anything to have been there with her in Tehran, to spend every fucking moment by her side until she got home safely. How she'd made it out alive was thanks only to Javadi's influence, the one and only thing the man had done that Quinn was grateful for. 

He understood Carrie's need to be there at the execution, even though his insides had twisted horribly inside him when he saw the crowds forming at the hanging over live feed, knowing she was amongst them. She needed to see it firsthand, to watch him die with her own eyes, or it wasn't real.

He knew that feeling. But he also knew it would stick with her for a long time, the only thing she'd see when she slept, the only thought in her mind when she was idle. He wouldn't wish that horror on anyone, least of all, Carrie.

Of all the fucked up ways he saw this play with Brody ending, this wasn't one he'd calculated for; Carrie watching the love of her life and father of her child die by hanging right in front of her eyes, with a crowd of hundreds scorning him as he took his last breath. 

He saw a woman standing by the baggage terminal, her back facing him, but he recognized her hair as the same as Carrie's had been over the cameras, the figure of her body one he'd know in a lineup of a hundred.

"Carrie," He called from a few feet away and she turned, distracted, a bit lost. Her eyes were puffy but devoid of much awareness, wide with sickening vulnerability, similar to a child who'd lost their mother. She was loosely holding the handle of her suitcase, still frozen to the spot as he neared, making no effort to move, just waiting for him.

"Hey." He told her softly, reaching an arm out to take her bag, unsure of the reaction he was going to get from her. She looked at him for a moment, barely registering, before sort of collapsing against him, not making a sound save for the tiniest hitch of a sob that broke him to his core.

He untangled her hand from her bag and wrapped her up with both arms, shocked by how pliable she was, the way she just melted into him with the most mournful groan he'd ever heard. Her limbs were limp as putty, like she'd given up and just wanted to let someone else do the thinking for her.

She wasn't crying, wasn't shaking, just letting him take all of her weight, breathing hard. He considered the fact that she hadn't even asked why he was here, hadn't questioned a damn thing, but even in this state she had decided that he was _safety_ , chose to surrender completely to him. It overwhelmed him, he wrapped her impossibly closer to himself, wishing she'd never feel pain again

He didn't breathe a word, just held her until she pushed back, eyes teary but still dead, looking only the slightest bit more aware of her surroundings. 

"Come on," He said, grabbing her bag and taking his jacket off to wrap her increasingly small, fragile looking frame, far too thin for a pregnant woman. She stared at him a moment and he briefly thought she was going to snap at him, telling him to leave her the hell alone, but she didn't, just pulled the collar of his jacket around her shoulders and followed him outside.

It was almost worse than her usual anger, this detached, lifeless version of Carrie. She was never a rag doll, letting life pull her in whatever direction it chose, she was a fucking fighter, the strongest he knew. But no one was invincible, and few people were _that_ _strong_ , strong enough to watch the person who'd captivated their entire heart die in front of their eyes while _carrying their child_.

He felt irrevocably grieved for her. Not because he thought much of Brody. Up until now, he'd had a fair amount of hatred for the man. Now he saw, Brody was both a hero and a traitor, both brave and cowardly. But she'd loved him, and Quinn couldn't fault her for that. Love was irresponsible, inexplicable, so often cruel, but it was one of the few things in this life worth dying for, worth giving _everything_ up for. So he felt the grief she felt, not for the same reasons she felt it, but because his heart was torn at the brokenness of her own, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he had a feeling it would always be this way.

"Quinn...wait..." She stopped suddenly, voice gratingly raw, all cried out.

He stopped, turned, "What?"

She looked confused a moment, brows stitched together with her signature look, sorting out some puzzle in her mind.

"I forgot...Never mind." Then she met his eyes again, the expression of meeting someone for the first time, then, "Quinn?" 

"Hmm?" He came a bit closer, noting the way she looked a bit like a flight risk, like if he didn't grab her, tether her somehow, she just might bolt, jump off a fucking cliff or something.

"You came." Was her reply. A little in-awe, a little confused.

"Yeah," He agreed, and she didn't ask for an explanation. She was still frowning, still lost, but she started walking again, this time in step with him, though she was still so fragile, everything about her so brittle and tenuous. 

"Where to?" He asked her when they reached his rental, "Home?"

She shook her head hard, the most certain he'd seen her since she landed, "No...I...I can't." She was staring into the distance, wind blowing her dark hair across her face, his jacket engulfing her figure, he wanted once more to hold her, rub some warmth into back, put color back into her cheeks, life into her eyes.

He felt painfully helpless, but he knew that the only thing he could do for her was to be there for her, like he'd told he would be.

_Whatever you need, Carrie._

He nodded, he didn't need to ask why she couldn't go home. He knew it, too, he'd spent more of his life in hotels and insipid apartments than he ever had at _home_. He didn't even know what the word entailed, anymore, wasn't sure if she did either.

He took her to a hotel, instead, only an hour away from her home, but far enough to put her mind at ease. She didn't speak on the way there, neither did he. He did, however, sneak glances at her every now and then, making sure she was still breathing. She alternated between looking out the window and sleeping with her head lolled on the headrest, arms curled over her chest, hugging his jacket around her like she could disappear in it.

The way she looked kept stirring horrible images in his mind of pulling over and waking her up only to find she was a cold, lifeless body, somehow sucked of all the life and fight inside her. Every time she jolted awake and stretched to be more comfortable, he found himself releasing a long-held breath, swallowing down the swirling in his gut. 

By the time they got to the hotel, Carrie had been sleeping for the longest stretch of time since she'd gotten in the car and he was loathe to wake her, but she needed a bed, not a car seat to sleep in. He said her name a couple times but she was out of it, so he touched her shoulder gently and her eyes snapped open, an incoherent mumble slipping out as her bleary eyes found his.

"We're here. You okay?"

She nodded, barely, and began the tedious process of forcing herself out of the car, stumbling over her own two feet a couple times. He forced himself not to help her, figuring she wouldn't be too thrilled with him babying her, _if she even remembered this in the future._ The other half of him wasn't even sure she was aware of where she was right now, if she even realized he was there. 

He checked them both in, with two rooms, of course, under alias' that would never be traced back to them, and the receptionist booked them adjoining rooms, and with a knowing smile gave him two sets of keys for each room. He noticed the glimmer in her eye, clearly she thought she knew exactly what was going on between them, but she couldn't have guessed if she tried.

Instead, he thanked her and handed Carrie her room key, figuring he didn't even need a second key, anyway, he would've just picked the lock if need be. 

When they reached the rooms he handed her the suitcase, waiting for her to get settled before he did. She unlocked her door and then paused, looking back at him, "Where will you be?" 

"Right next door," He told her.

She frowned, familiar Carrie frustration clear on her face. "If you need anything, don't hesitate," He clarified.

She sighed and pushed the door open and he vaguely wondered if she didn't want to be alone, but he wasn't about to encroach on her privacy unless she asked for it. He waited until the door shut behind her before disappearing into his own room, sighing heavily and leaning against the cool wood of his door, closing his eyes.

It had been a crushing week, disappointment after disappointment, ending far worse than any of them could've hoped for. Saul had called him twenty-four hours prior, telling him Carrie was on her way home and she wasn't in a good place. _Well no shit_ , he'd thought, her world had just crumbled in front of her eyes, and Saul was in no position to help her, barely making sense of the utter catastrophe himself.

Quinn hadn't even waited for Saul to tell him to get her, just confirmed the unspoken question. _"Keep an eye on her, Peter,"_ Was the last thing Saul had said.

He hadn't needed a reminder, but he heard the subtle undertone in Saul's words. Carrie may have been capable, independent to a fault and a fierce fighter, but her true worst enemy was her mind.

Quinn knew Carrie should probably eat something, drink some water, get a good night's sleep, but he didn't hear a single sound from her room and figured she'd just gone straight to sleep. Fair enough, it was about 2 A.M. in Tehran.

He took a shower and made contact with Saul before laying down. Saul said to take as much time as need be. _As need be for what_ , he didn't specify, but Quinn got his drift. And he was in no rush, with Lockhart taking Saul's place, the agency was in a sort of transition.

His future was fairly undetermined at this point, something rare for him, but it didn't make him antsy like it normally would. He wanted to be here as long as Carrie needed, even if that meant sticking around in the CIA when he couldn't stand it. Dar had roped him into a mission that he would have to leave for in a couple of days, and he nearly turned in his resignation right there, said ' _fuck, no'_ and stormed out the door. But he couldn't, there was no way he could abandon Carrie after what she'd been through in the last few months.

Quinn laid down on top of his covers, vaguely aware that he was starving and hadn't eaten a proper meal in twenty-four hours but, it could wait another twelve, he thought. He closed his eyes, basking in the cool air of the room floating over him. He was glad for the habit of always having a packed bag ready for last-minute trips like, it was nice to sleep in pajamas like a normal person instead of jeans like he often did on missions, too dead tired to care.

About an hour into his dozing, Quinn woke up to the sounds of muffled screaming and something that sounded like a glass breaking. He was on his feet in seconds, using the adjoining door to get to Carrie's room, cold fear in his gut. 

He had been fast, but not fast enough to stop Carrie from clearing a desk of a lamp and a fairly expensive-looking vase, both of which had shattered onto the floor with the water and flowers of the vase amongst the mess. She was sobbing angrily, prepped to hit a wall painting with her violent tossing of the pillows off her bed, but he grabbed her wrists, holding them tightly, feeling how tense and strung-out she was as she screeched out a horrendous cry and collapsed on the floor against the bed. Tears ran uncontrolled down her face, her hair sticking to her wet cheeks.

"Carrie, hey," He sat down in front of her on the carpet as she pulled her knees up against her chest, eyes squeezed shut, choking out angry, wounded sobs. As soon as he let go of her wrists, she was fisting them into her hair, pulling herself into a tight ball and grating out her tears, shaking like an inconsolable child.

Her broken, soul-wrenching cries sent chills through him, he felt like blood had run cold at the sheer agony in her voice, the way her entire body was shaking from all the emotions coursing through her. 

He didn't bother trying to talk her out of it, merely untangled her fists from her hair before she tore it out and slid to sit next to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulder, the other holding her trembling hand. She was stiff as a board but when he pulled her in, she fought less than he thought she would, digging her fingers into his palm so hard she'd leave marks and hiccuping her cries into his shoulder. 

They stayed like that for a while, it might've been minutes or hours but he didn't move an inch and she didn't speak, her sobs calming into irregular whimpers and mournful groans. He wasn't a therapist by any means, never much of a talker or a comforter. But he _did_ know how to act in stressful, life-or-death situations, and he'd been the voice of reason for terrified civilians and injured operatives many times, had gotten pretty good at talking people down or just keeping them calm by not letting himself get caught up in their hysteria.

With Carrie it was different, keeping a cool head and not letting her pain affect him was a much harder war than he was used to. Every terrible little gasp of breath she took in, the pained sounds she made, killed him inside a bit. He wished he could just take every awful thing she felt and bury it so deep it could never hurt her again. 

Finally Carrie was quiet, calm, even. She stayed that way for a few minutes before lifting her head and looking at Quinn with heartbreaking vulnerability.

"Quinn," She mumbled, her voice sounding raw and harsh from crying. "Yeah." He met her gaze, resisting the urge to wipe the smudged tears from her eyes. Her face was red and blotched, puffy, her eyes looked close to bloodshot and her lips looked painfully swollen, but he still thought she was beautiful, wanted nothing more than to hold her all night long, tell her everything would be okay, that she could let it all out and he'd be right here as long as she needed. 

He pushed those thoughts out of his mind, though, that was territory he'd expressly forbid himself from going, it was a horrible idea for so many reasons, but try as hard as he might, he couldn't just _turn off_ the way he cared about her. The heart and its awful tendencies to attach to all the wrong people.

There was a long silence before she answered, as she looked around the room a bit, seeming confused as to what had happened. She sighed long and hard, exhausted. "Fuck." 

Then, suddenly, as if just remembering something, her head snapped up to look at him, "He's not dead." She told him, eyes wide, looking a bit frantic, like she was letting him in on a grave secret that no one else knew. He didn't reply, just kept his arm on her shoulder, waited for her to sort through everything going on in her head.

"No...Don't look at me like that," She was starting to get agitated, tried to pull back, "You don't believe me!"

She looked crazed now, her tone accusatory. She started scrambling to get up, " _No_! I have to find him, I have to--He's not dead! Where is he?!" Her voice was rising, panicked.

He stood with her, grabbing her shoulders when she tried to bolt, pretty sure it would end with her running manic out the door, barefoot, in her pajamas, into the dead of night.

"Where is he?!" She was nearly screaming now, grabbing him by his shirt and shoving at him like he held the answers, but he didn't let her go.

" _Where is he, where is he, where is he_..." Her yelling turned into incoherent mumbling and she finally surrendered, collapsing into him again, so much anger wound up inside her body he could practically feel it vibrating inside her.

He sighed, resting his head against her hair, arms wrapped tightly over her back. He could feel the bones of it through her shirt, nearly shuddered to think just how _fragile_ she was. So much intense hatred, volatility and anguish wrapped up in her, yet she was so breakable, too.

When she'd finally cried herself completely empty of any energy to fight or rail against him, he detached himself from her, trying to gauge where her state of mind was at.

"Carrie, hey," She looked up, dead exhaustion clear in her eyes, the way her shoulders were slumped like a defeated little girl.

"You want to get some sleep?" He asked her. She nodded, sullen once more, he could tell she was back in the vastly empty world of her mind, where she wasn't really thinking so much as just reacting, going through the motions.

She went to the bathroom and he waited a moment to listen for sounds of her breaking anything or possibly trying to hurt herself. All was quiet, so he found her suitcase and skimmed through it until he found what he was looking for. She'd packed a hefty supply of meds, more than enough for her short trip to Tehran that had originally planned.

She was planning to go off the grid for a while, he grimly realized.

He wasn't surprised, from the moment she warned Brody about the tag team, he'd known deep down she was probably building a plan to get him off the radar, probably run away with him, hide out until they were eventually found.

The fact that she would have done it had Brody not died didn't worry him so much as the thought of what would've happened to her once they were found. She was only protected because of Javadi's influence, and if not for that, she would've been in the cell right next to Brody, subjected to _god know's what_ for her involvement in the plot. And _that_ was what terrified him.

When Carrie got out of the bathroom, she didn't even question when Quinn gave her the pills, just took them out of his hand and swallowed them dry, before accepting the water bottle he held out. "Get some rest," He told her softly, picking up the pillows she'd unceremoniously tossed about the room.

She crawled into bed, asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. He watched her for a second, wryly amused by how quickly she went from zero to one hundred, like a toddler on a sugar high. He surveyed the room a bit, taking in the damage. He picked up as much of the glass as he could, making a mental note to tell the hotel to put the lamp and the poor vase on the bill. They probably thought it was some horrible lover's spat, or somebody's unruly child. 

He didn't sleep a ton after that, just planted himself facedown on his bed and daydreamed for a while, until morning came. It was the latest he'd slept in a while, seeing orange light shine through the window was a strange way to wake up, but it was welcome.

His first order of business was making sure that Carrie hadn't either jumped out the window or broke any more expensive items of furniture. He ventured downstairs after changing to get some breakfast for both of them, finding fresh baked muffins and coffee and deciding it was fittingly reminiscent of how they spent most mornings in the ops room. Carrie's habitual choice was poppy-seed muffins, boring, he thought, but she always chose them out of a lineup, so he grabbed a couple for her and blueberry for himself. There was something homey to him about a blueberry muffin. 

He knocked before coming into Carrie's room and, to his surprise, there was a reply. "Don't worry, I'm alive," She muttered when he'd let himself in. 

"So I can see," He gestured with the coffee cups held in one hand, muffins in the other, wrapped in napkins. "I brought breakfast." He felt like Dar, showing up to stressful situations with food, but she nodded, looking a little more alive than the night before. She was sitting in bed against the headboard, still in pajamas, blankets pooled around her legs. 

He handed her the poppy seed muffins and she inspected them briefly, giving him a raised eyebrow of recognition. She slowly unwrapped the paper, inch by inch, like it was therapeutic for her. He sat in a chair across form the bed, noting the blanket she'd thrown on the floor where little glass shards were from her tantrum the night before.

"I'll call housekeeping later," Carrie said sullenly, noting his gaze. He looked up at her. She was staring at the floor, frowning. "It's fucked up. All of it." 

He didn't disagree with that assessment at all, nodded but didn't say anything. 

"Does Saul know I'm here?" She was eating the muffin in tiny pieces, methodically. He wondered at how patient she was with it, she might as well have picked each poppyseed out by hand.

"He does," Quinn told her. She mulled it over before nodding, "It was Lockhart, wasn't it?" 

Quinn nodded. "Lockhart and Dar."

She scoffed, shook her head, bringing her knees up to her chest and crossing her arms around them, breakfast forgotten. 

"They should've taken me too. They should've _fucking_ killed me, too, _fuck!_ " She said, disgust evident in her voice.

"You have a child, Carrie, a family," Quinn tried not to sound too incredulous, but it made his blood boil how she was so willing to give everything in her life up for this man who'd hurt her so much, and hurt so many others, too. 

"A child whose dead dad was a terrorist and whose mother is _fucking crazy_ ," She replied, with an icy glare.

"Still a child."

"And my family doesn't even know about it. They already think I'm insane for being with him in the first place, they'd lose their shit to know I was pregnant with his _kid_ for god's sake." Her shoulders were tense and her hands balled into fists resting on her knees, all of her seeming to be unraveling and weaving back together at the same time.

She was fusing her cracks with anger and purpose. Always.

"When do you plan to tell them?" 

She shook her head, eyes still distant, her headspace undetermined. "I don't know if I _will_ tell them. I mean, look at me, I'm a mess. I don't even know if I still have my job, I can't think about _it_ without thinking about _him_. I can't even think about being a mom right now. I wouldn't know the first thing." She was so resigned, so defeated. 

It amazed Quinn, the way she was never defeated about anything else in her life, practically fearless when it came to risking her life, her job, her friends, everything, to accomplish something she wanted. But the thought of a child completely broke her down, made her somehow forget every ounce of bravery and genius that ran through her complex mind. He thought she'd be an amazing mom. If she tried. If she wanted it. 

"What about you?" She was asking, while he was lost in thought. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"What are you going to do? You're not leaving are you?" _Leaving her? Leaving right now?_

"The agency? No." He told her.

"Good." She nodded, not elaborating. He was glad she thought it a good thing, was partly certain she was going to make some barbed remark about how he'd wanted to get out so badly. 

"Are you going to stay? After what happened?" He asked, cautiously. He was nearly sure she would, but this was Brody, after all, and he'd been her heart, her purpose, the reason she was doing all of these reckless things to begin with. He wasn't sure she could stand looking Lockhart and Dar in the face after knowing what they'd done. 

"Yeah," She said finally. "I can't leave now, he's gone, I can't bring him back." Her brow furrowed, "But I just want one _fucking_ good answer to why they just used him like that! Got what they wanted and then fucked him over like he didn't even matter," She grated out. 

He bit his lip, thinking of the moment near the cabin, that memory he'd never forget, making a decision he wasn't supposed to, for reasons that weren't supposed to be his to decide, and yet Brody had died, after all. Quinn was still overwhelmingly glad he hadn't been the one to do it, though. He couldn't have lived with himself, and he couldn't have stood to look at Carrie without thinking about what he'd done. She would've found out, eventually, anyway. 

And that logic is partly why he says what he does next, "It wasn't just a random decision, Carrie." 

"Oh really? And how do you know that? Were you planning it with them?" She snaps. He ignored the blatantly cutting accusation.

"No. But I was when Estes planned it the first time." He gave it a moment to soak in and the expression on her face went from anger to surprise and then back to a dark glare. "You what?" Her tone laced with incredulous fury. 

"He wanted Brody gone, Carrie. From day one."

"That's why you were there! Holy fuck," Her eyes were wide with recognition, putting the pieces together. "I knew it. I _fucking knew it_." She stood up, quickly, running her hands through her hair, and he waited for her to either throw something at him or scream, but she did neither. 

"Jesus, Quinn," She groaned, facing him with an expression of pure disbelief mixed with the familiar intensity and anger, "And why didn't you go through with it?" She demanded. "Did Estes change his mind?" 

He shook his head, briefly considered saying that she was right to avoid having to explain his reasons, but he knew it was no use lying to her, plus, he'd chosen to make that decision for his own reasons, and given the chance, he'd do it again.

"So you, what? Told him to go fuck himself? What the hell, Quinn? Tell me!" Hands on her hips, much more the 'alive' Carrie he knew so well. 

"Sort of." Quinn told her, leaving it open-ended. Threatening the life of the director of the CIA wasn't exactly something to brag about, but in his mind, evil monsters were evil monsters no matter the position they were in. 

She looked increasingly awed, in a frustrated, but somewhat relieved way. She paced a few times, shaking her head, before finally stopping in front of him, full looking at him now. 

"I'm glad you didn't," She told him, sincerely. He thought it was probably the closest thing he'd ever get to a 'thank you' from Carrie Mathison, but that was fine by him. He'd never been too accustomed to getting accolades from the people he worked with, anyway. One thing he respected about Carrie, call her many things but ungenuine was not one of them

With that revelation out of the way, Quinn felt like he could breathe a little more deeply now. He wondered if she felt the same way, because she sat down on the edge of the bed with a long sigh, but some of the pain and exhaustion was cleared from her eyes, she looked a little more present, a little more determined. 

"You know what this means, right?" She asked him with a wry expression. 

"What?"

"That you believed me the whole time when I said that Brody wasn't guilty." She smirked a tiny bit. 

He could've rolled his eyes, but he was too relieved to see her able to actually make a joke to be able to be annoyed. "Right." 

Yeah, she'd be alright.

"I think I'm ready to go home, I've gotta get out of here before I lose my mind." She decided, standing up. He smiled a bit because she was still in pajamas, and the room was still slightly wrecked from the the night before, but it was Carrie's way of saying that she was done sitting around on her ass, and ready to take the world by it's horns again. Still grieving, but not defeated anymore.

"I'll pack, you shower," He told her, and she rolled her eyes, but agreed, "Fine."

By the time they'd gotten to her house that night, they were back to their usual routine, a few snarky quips, a few moments of heavy silence, but over all, they were both emerging from this dark hole they'd been in. It would probably not be smooth sailing for either of them at all, and he was sure there'd be some ugly moments of grief and madness for her, and maybe even sometimes directed at him, especially now that she knew. 

But he'd take that any day, so long as he knew she hadn't given up. "You're pretty fucking strong, Carrie." He told her before they parted. He was going on a mission and wouldn't be back for a couple weeks, it felt like a weighty goodbye. 

She smiled at the ground, the same, slightly bashful look she'd given in the garage a few months ago. "Kind a requirement for the job, Quinn," She told him, but she was smiling, just a bit. He smiled back, reminded of the moment in the ops room when she'd first learned that Brody had made it across the border to Iran, so much relief in her eyes, and she'd chosen to share it with him.

It hit him, right then, that this was the very reason he hadn't left the agency just yet. Whatever it was that he felt towards her, so many feelings he thought better left untouched, he couldn't shake this need to be there for her no matter what. To protect her, have her back, support her, whatever she needed. He'd said it once and it was still true, probably always would be true. No matter how much she got on his nerves, or vice versa, he knew he'd always be looking out for her, whether she asked for it or not. 

"Take care of yourself," He told her, and she nodded skeptically. He raised a brow, "Promise?" 

She scoffed, but then, more seriously, she looked him in the eye and nodded, "I'll try. You do the same. And you better come back soon, or I swear to god I'll kick your ass for what happened at the cabin."

He laughed, "Copy that."

He turned back one last time before getting in his car, she was standing in the driveway of her place, suitcase in hand, resolve written all over her face. It was a mirror of the day Abu Nazir finally died, only that time he'd had a knot in his stomach, knowing it wasn't over like she thought it was over. 

This time, he smiled back.


End file.
